[justified] it only seems illegal
[An awkward conversation about Tim's curious cocaine habit.]
it only seems illegal
Tim came into the office late that morning, having served a subpoena before starting his day. He brought what he assumed to be the second round of coffee with him because it was his day and he hadn't been there early enough to get the first round. When he opened the door to the squad room, he was surprised to see two men in DEA jackets and a dog hanging around the office. When he entered, the dog's head turned attentively. It was alert and panting.
Tim looked at the dog. The dog looked at Tim. Both of them seemed to find the other suspicious. Tim didn't reach for his weapon, but only because he remembered in time that it would probably look really stupid. He didn't really like dogs a whole lot.
He set the cardboard tray down on Rachel's desk. She and Raylan were sitting at their desks, watching the two DEA agents with fascination.
"What's going on here?" Tim asked and pulled Raylan's cup out of the tray to hand it to him. Rachel helped him hold the tray down and pulled hers out herself.
"Thanks," she said as she pulled the lid off her cup.
Art was coming out of his office and walking towards them. He reached out and took the cup that Tim was holding out to him. Tim took the last one for himself and looked at the others expectantly.
"The dog smelled drugs in the locker room," Art explained. "They were just supposed to test the drugs we got from in last night's raid on the Berenger house, but somehow the dog got a sniff." He took a sip and sighed. "Ah, I needed that."
"No one knows what to do next. It's fascinating," Raylan mumbled, obviously enjoying the show.
Tim nodded like that made sense. He guessed it was difficult to find an off-switch for a dog that got treats whenever it found something that smelled funny. He realized something then and looked at the dog. "I have drugs in my locker," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"What?" Rachel asked. Neither Art nor Raylan seemed to take him seriously. He didn't want to be serious, but he was.
He nodded at her. "Yeah, cocaine."
Art narrowed his eyes. Even Raylan was paying attention now. Rachel shook her head.
One of the DEA men had overheard the word 'cocaine' and came closer, interested and suspicious. "What's going on here?"
"I keep cocaine in my locker," Tim told the man. "But that's just… for work." He didn't even bother to hide the grin that made its way onto his face. The way everyone reacted - especially the DEA agent - was in fact, hilarious.
"That sounds really bad," Art said, voicing everyone's thoughts. The DEA man seemed to agree as well, because he crossed his arms, waiting for more.
"Guys, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you probably won't find many snipers that don't have a bit of cocaine on hand." Tim tilted his head. "Well, maybe not here."
"Please elaborate," Raylan said, hand gesture asking for more. "I don't think that's ever come up before."
"Well," Tim explained. "What you do is, you take some dried blood - or wait for it to dry, anyway. Not a long wait in the desert. Just scrape some off from somewhere and mix it with a little cocaine." He demonstrated that by rubbing his fingers together, allowing everyone to follow before he continued. "It's the best way to get rid of tracking dogs."
The DEA agent didn't look like he was sure what to think of Tim's explanation. Tim wasn't sure the guy completely bought his explanation. He knew the manual that had taught him that technique would back him up, though.
"Drives them absolutely batshit insane and allows you to make an exit - at least until you get into a position to kill them," Tim said and looked at the dog. Then he added, "So I really wouldn't recommend letting Max here sniff my stuff."
"This is… unusual," Art began. "Not for recreational purposes, though. So I think we're good."
Tim loved how quick the Chief accepted whatever he threw at him. They had had conversations about Tim's tactics before, mostly about the way he needed to slow down now that he was with the Marshals. Civilian life didn't move as fast as military life. Art seemed to accept that the uses for cocaine weren't as regulated in military life either.
Tim looked at Rachel while the two men discussed what was going to happen now. She was probably adding this to the list of things that she hadn't wanted to know about him. He knew she liked animals and remembered the time she hadn't let that one Guide dog out of her sight the whole afternoon it was there to help its owner identify a voice. She probably didn't appreciate him admitting to killing dogs. He didn't plan on telling her how many there had been.
"You can test me," Tim said when he remembered that it might help to prove his innocence. He plucked a hair from his head and held it out with two fingers. "No drugs."
Raylan snorted. Tim turned to him and they looked at each other. Rayan held up an admonishing index finger. "Now, remember. Alcohol is a drug, too, Tim."
Tim took that comment in stride and licked his lips. "No drugs except for alcohol then."
Raylan grinned. "It's probably soaked in that, though."
Tim pressed his lips together. "No more than yours, I think?"
Raylan accepted the touché and toasted Tim with his coffee cup.
"We'll do a blood test, too" the DEA man said and waved at his partner to come over. The dog followed, and this time Tim looked at it with a little more suspicion. "And we'll need to take the cocaine."
Tim smirked at the ridiculousness of that. It was not going to stop him from mixing up another batch. The DEA agent seemed to follow his train of thought and looked at Art for help.
"Why don't we just leave it at that," Art said. "The dog wasn't even supposed to come along, let alone work in its down time."
"True," the DEA agent said and took a long look at Tim. Tim tried to stare back without blinking.
"Did you serve that subpoena?" Art asked him then, completely changing the direction of the conversation.
"Yes, of course."
"Then go along with the nice DEA agents and get some blood taken." He looked at the DEA agent. "Downstairs if there's an EMT on duty. Can't spare him too long, you understand." Then he nodded at Raylan and told Tim, "Then the two of you can go find a Mister Ray Evans, brother to the fugitive Allan Evans. Raylan will fill you in."
Walking downstairs with the DEA agents, Tim thought it could have been just like any other Tuesday morning. He looked at his watch and wondered if he should mark this date as the Tuesday on which Art, Raylan, and Rachel found out that Tim had cocaine in his locker. He shrugged his arm and twisted the watch so the face looked inside again and watched the dog hop downstairs ahead of him. He didn't really like dogs.
it only seems illegal
Tim came into the office late that morning, having served a subpoena before starting his day. He brought what he assumed to be the second round of coffee with him because it was his day and he hadn't been there early enough to get the first round. When he opened the door to the squad room, he was surprised to see two men in DEA jackets and a dog hanging around the office. When he entered, the dog's head turned attentively. It was alert and panting.
Tim looked at the dog. The dog looked at Tim. Both of them seemed to find the other suspicious. Tim didn't reach for his weapon, but only because he remembered in time that it would probably look really stupid. He didn't really like dogs a whole lot.
He set the cardboard tray down on Rachel's desk. She and Raylan were sitting at their desks, watching the two DEA agents with fascination.
"What's going on here?" Tim asked and pulled Raylan's cup out of the tray to hand it to him. Rachel helped him hold the tray down and pulled hers out herself.
"Thanks," she said as she pulled the lid off her cup.
Art was coming out of his office and walking towards them. He reached out and took the cup that Tim was holding out to him. Tim took the last one for himself and looked at the others expectantly.
"The dog smelled drugs in the locker room," Art explained. "They were just supposed to test the drugs we got from in last night's raid on the Berenger house, but somehow the dog got a sniff." He took a sip and sighed. "Ah, I needed that."
"No one knows what to do next. It's fascinating," Raylan mumbled, obviously enjoying the show.
Tim nodded like that made sense. He guessed it was difficult to find an off-switch for a dog that got treats whenever it found something that smelled funny. He realized something then and looked at the dog. "I have drugs in my locker," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"What?" Rachel asked. Neither Art nor Raylan seemed to take him seriously. He didn't want to be serious, but he was.
He nodded at her. "Yeah, cocaine."
Art narrowed his eyes. Even Raylan was paying attention now. Rachel shook her head.
One of the DEA men had overheard the word 'cocaine' and came closer, interested and suspicious. "What's going on here?"
"I keep cocaine in my locker," Tim told the man. "But that's just… for work." He didn't even bother to hide the grin that made its way onto his face. The way everyone reacted - especially the DEA agent - was in fact, hilarious.
"That sounds really bad," Art said, voicing everyone's thoughts. The DEA man seemed to agree as well, because he crossed his arms, waiting for more.
"Guys, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you probably won't find many snipers that don't have a bit of cocaine on hand." Tim tilted his head. "Well, maybe not here."
"Please elaborate," Raylan said, hand gesture asking for more. "I don't think that's ever come up before."
"Well," Tim explained. "What you do is, you take some dried blood - or wait for it to dry, anyway. Not a long wait in the desert. Just scrape some off from somewhere and mix it with a little cocaine." He demonstrated that by rubbing his fingers together, allowing everyone to follow before he continued. "It's the best way to get rid of tracking dogs."
The DEA agent didn't look like he was sure what to think of Tim's explanation. Tim wasn't sure the guy completely bought his explanation. He knew the manual that had taught him that technique would back him up, though.
"Drives them absolutely batshit insane and allows you to make an exit - at least until you get into a position to kill them," Tim said and looked at the dog. Then he added, "So I really wouldn't recommend letting Max here sniff my stuff."
"This is… unusual," Art began. "Not for recreational purposes, though. So I think we're good."
Tim loved how quick the Chief accepted whatever he threw at him. They had had conversations about Tim's tactics before, mostly about the way he needed to slow down now that he was with the Marshals. Civilian life didn't move as fast as military life. Art seemed to accept that the uses for cocaine weren't as regulated in military life either.
Tim looked at Rachel while the two men discussed what was going to happen now. She was probably adding this to the list of things that she hadn't wanted to know about him. He knew she liked animals and remembered the time she hadn't let that one Guide dog out of her sight the whole afternoon it was there to help its owner identify a voice. She probably didn't appreciate him admitting to killing dogs. He didn't plan on telling her how many there had been.
"You can test me," Tim said when he remembered that it might help to prove his innocence. He plucked a hair from his head and held it out with two fingers. "No drugs."
Raylan snorted. Tim turned to him and they looked at each other. Rayan held up an admonishing index finger. "Now, remember. Alcohol is a drug, too, Tim."
Tim took that comment in stride and licked his lips. "No drugs except for alcohol then."
Raylan grinned. "It's probably soaked in that, though."
Tim pressed his lips together. "No more than yours, I think?"
Raylan accepted the touché and toasted Tim with his coffee cup.
"We'll do a blood test, too" the DEA man said and waved at his partner to come over. The dog followed, and this time Tim looked at it with a little more suspicion. "And we'll need to take the cocaine."
Tim smirked at the ridiculousness of that. It was not going to stop him from mixing up another batch. The DEA agent seemed to follow his train of thought and looked at Art for help.
"Why don't we just leave it at that," Art said. "The dog wasn't even supposed to come along, let alone work in its down time."
"True," the DEA agent said and took a long look at Tim. Tim tried to stare back without blinking.
"Did you serve that subpoena?" Art asked him then, completely changing the direction of the conversation.
"Yes, of course."
"Then go along with the nice DEA agents and get some blood taken." He looked at the DEA agent. "Downstairs if there's an EMT on duty. Can't spare him too long, you understand." Then he nodded at Raylan and told Tim, "Then the two of you can go find a Mister Ray Evans, brother to the fugitive Allan Evans. Raylan will fill you in."
Walking downstairs with the DEA agents, Tim thought it could have been just like any other Tuesday morning. He looked at his watch and wondered if he should mark this date as the Tuesday on which Art, Raylan, and Rachel found out that Tim had cocaine in his locker. He shrugged his arm and twisted the watch so the face looked inside again and watched the dog hop downstairs ahead of him. He didn't really like dogs.